I stay home with Scout. I get up at 4 AM, so I can work before she wakes up. During her naps, I do more work. At 4 PM, Scout goes to the child care center in our gym, and I hop on an elliptical and watch Ellen.
For those of you mathematically challenged, that’s 12 hours until I get a break.
Today I was especially excited to watch Ellen because Johnny Depp was a guest (::swoon::).
After mere minutes, a special news report interrupted my program. (Does saying “my program” make me sound old?)
My first thought? NOOOOOOOO! JOHNNY!
My second thought? Damn terrorists.
But it wasn’t terrorists. It was Tom Brady. Damn Tom Brady…talking about how he picks out his footballs. Insert your own joke about a man and his balls here and in the comments.
And although Tom Brady is pretty cute, let’s face it: he’s no Johnny Depp.
I saw this:
Instead of this:
Now I know why people hate the Patriots. Those freakin’ program interrupters….
I am a woman. That means I have…and I don’t have…. I’ll just let his kid explain it.
Boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina.
Which means I have no idea what to do for Boo and Radley when they get hurt…in that area.
The other evening we grilled. Kiefer went inside for drinks, and I kept Ozzy away from the grill. Boo, Radley, and Radley’s friend played baseball in the backyard…and became America’s Funniest Video contestants.
Boo pitched; Radley’s friend made contact with ball. And the ball…it made contact with Boo’s…well…you know.
Boo: Ow! ::collapses to the ground::
Thoughtsy:Uh…I’m just gonna go get your dad. ::runs inside:: Kiefer! Boo got hit by the baseball…in a not-good place.
After that, Boo was done with baseball for the evening. Instead, he just hung out on the couch.
Thoughtsy: Soooooo…do you want some ice for that?
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I am using that line the next time I desperately need a break from the kids: ‘Oh, snap. The door is stuck. Guess you’ll have to just go play quietly in your room until daddy gets home. Pass my latest copy of People magazine under the door.'”—UndercoverL
When you think BBQ or cookout, what do you think of? I think of…
Shooing bees away from the desserts
Napkins blowing all over place
Doubling up on paper plates
Plastic utensils that break when you stab your food
Red Solo cups.
Well, you’re wrong.
Recently, Kiefer and I were invited to a cookout. We already had plans, but Radley went. When we picked him up, we saw this:
Except Obama wasn’t there.
When’s the last time you went to a cookout and it was inside? With a dining room table covered in a white linen tablecloth, multiple forks, and water flutes? Water. Flutes.
I’m not sure what the main course was, but it was definitely not something that came off a grill.
This weekend we’re going to a soccer game. I don’t know what to expect. Soccer? Football? Can I wear sneakers? Should I bring a water bottle or a wine glass? Pop-Tarts are probably out of the question.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “If you make your father’s new car a Batmobile, not only will you be hands down better than your brother, but he’ll also be extremely jealous because every man loves the Batmobile. Your whole family will refer to it as The Day Thoughtsy Bought the Batmobile. And Lunchbox will start being super nice to you and buying *you* awesome gifts in the hope that one day you’ll replicate The Best Gift Ever for him.
“Also your mother will be all, ‘He got a Batmobile and I only got a trip to NYC?’ so you’ll have to work extra hard on Mother’s Day next year. Luckily, Lunchbox will be so busy trying to impress you, he’ll pay for that Barbie Dreamcar and let you put your name on the card.”—Queen Gen